


The Limit

by Anonymous



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Codependency, Crisis Core timeline, Dark, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Psychological Grooming, Sexual Content, predatory relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27334411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A youthful mind is at its most malleable, so that’s where Sephiroth tries to exert his influence.Dark/Canon-Divergent AU.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 18
Kudos: 119
Collections: Anonymous





	The Limit

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: Predatory relationship, underage
> 
> Set during Crisis Core timeline.

“What a good, sweet boy you are,” Sephiroth praises, gripping a fistful of Cloud’s hair. Those words, spoken in that approving tone, feel like sinking into a warm and inviting bath.

He looks up at the beatific face with trusting eyes, as Sephiroth’s other hand brushes past his cheek and settles under his jaw. Tilting his chin upward, an unnatural gaze bears down at him with a cold satisfaction.

“Open,” coaxes the silken voice, so low and dulcet that it seems a caress inside his mind.

Obediently, Cloud’s lips part, his eyes never leaving his master’s face. Upon it, a fleeting frown might pass. Or a lustrous flush of pleasure, if he does everything right. He never knows which reaction it will end up being, no matter how carefully he tries to follow instructions.

The elegant fingers propping up his chin grip just hard enough to be painful, and Cloud immediately corrects his mistake. Jaw dropping lower, the gesture widens his gaping mouth. He supposes that he looks stupid like that, but Sephiroth appears pleased. The position is uncomfortable to maintain, but he endures it.

Without Sephiroth, he would have been a failure. He would have gone all the way to Midgar to remain a nobody. Cloud would have never... he would have never made it on his own. Sephiroth had said so himself.

_”You’re small. And weak. They don’t see the potential in you, but I do. And it doesn’t matter what they think.”_

Clinging to every word of his idol, it gave him hope again. Cloud had been nothing until Sephiroth molded him under his tutelage. The bruises and lessons only made him stronger, just as he said they would.

The man before him is everything Cloud once dreamed of being—powerful, respected, superior. And instead of disciplining him for his infractions in the infantry, he gave Cloud a chance.

A thumb runs along the edges of his mouth, the pad of it tracing the open circular shape, and arousal coils inside him from the touch.

In the back of his mind, a voice of doubt sneers that he’s still nothing, still weak and a failure, and that Sephiroth would not pay him any attention at all, were it not for the things he does on his knees and on his back—

“You’re distracted,” Sephiroth murmurs in a disappointed tone.

“I’m sorry,” Cloud whispers, guilt tightening in his gut.

“Do you not want my affection?” he asks sharply, releasing the hand at the back of Cloud’s head and taking a step back. The sudden rejection makes his heart drop into his stomach.

“I want it.” There’s nothing more he’s ever wanted, even as a sick feeling runs through him.

The look on Sephiroth’s face softens, and he moves forward again to cradle Cloud’s face against him, running his fingers soothingly through the blond tufts of his hair. Pressed against his cheek, the hardness underneath the leather pants twitches.

He’s afraid. He’s afraid that he’ll upset Sephiroth, and he’ll pull away, and Cloud will be nothing again.

“Please fuck me.”

The usual, cat-like smile flickers on his master’s face, the mako in his green eyes glowing. He likes to take Cloud sometimes like this, pathetic and sniffling.

He hushes Cloud, wiping away the stray tear that has rolled down his cheek. Unzipping himself, Sephiroth pulses against his miserable face, waiting to be let in.

Cloud doesn’t have to be asked twice.

Immediately, he opens up his mouth. It makes him gag slightly when Sephiroth thrusts roughly inside.

It’s just like when they train with swords. Pushing Cloud harder and harder, to the point of exhaustion, to the point that he wants to give up. When he lies in the dirt, feeling defeated, Sephiroth tells him that he can still surpass his limits.

A boot nudges in between Cloud’s thighs, testing the shameful arousal he gets simply from having his mouth used like this. Sephiroth’s right hand plays with the straps of his uniform as he fucks Cloud’s face, back and forth. The uniform that he only gets to wear because his admittance to the program had been personally recommended.

“No one else has to know,” Sephiroth assured him. After all, his friend Zack has a Soldier First as a mentor too, and Cloud _has_ improved. And true to that promise, none of the others know of the true extent of his training.

The mako injections he gets are not the same as all the other Soldier Thirds. Instead of being sent to the labs like everyone else, Sephiroth insists on administering the treatment personally.

Cloud doesn’t ask what else is in the syringes. The purple substance mixes with the green of the mako to become a muddy, ugly brown. It stings when it enters his bloodstream, more than when Sephiroth slices his bare skin with Masamune, more than the first time Sephiroth had him lay on his back.

“You’ll get used to it,” is what Sephiroth said one afternoon, but Cloud did not know exactly what he was referring to, although he finds himself agreeing as the words echo afterwards in his head.

Soreness radiates painfully along his jaw, as the fullness stretches with each movement. “You’re doing so well,” Sephiroth says in an oddly calm manner, incongruous with the obscenity of his hips snapping forward into Cloud’s mouth. As if he’s praising Cloud’s stance or materia proficiency during their lessons. The approval washes over him like a warm tide.

Sephiroth looks at him like he is special, and that gaze alone makes him feel as if it is actually true.

“All the way in,” he murmurs, thrusting particularly deep this time. Cloud chokes briefly, thrashing against his grasp for air.

It feels as if it is all a test. Sephiroth is testing his limits. Cloud doesn’t want to disappoint him, so he swallows hard and relaxes enough for the tip to rest at the back of his throat, even as his eyes burn.

“Good boy.” Brushing more tears from his face.

Having found a new limit for Cloud, his master tests it over and over again. It makes him clutch onto the sides of Sephiroth’s long coat. There’s no such thing as a steady rhythm, just as when they draw blades, so that no movement is overly predictable. All the same, each gesture is sharp and precise, measured and calculating, just like the flicker of Masamune.

Sephiroth withdraws for a moment, long enough to let him suck in a breath. “Soon, you’ll be just like you were. Only better,” he says, cupping Cloud’s chin affectionately. Cloud doesn’t know what he means by that exactly, but he nods as if he understands.

“You’ll be mine,” he says simply, tilting his head to gaze at Cloud’s reverent expression.

“But I already am yours.” He bristles when Sephiroth chuckles in response.

“You haven’t proven that to me quite yet.”

His head hangs in disappointment, wondering what more he hasn’t given. Sephiroth tilts Cloud’s head back up and slides down his throat once more. Running his fingers through the ends of long silver hair, Cloud ignores the neglected ache between his own thighs. He hasn’t earned that reward yet.

In front of the others, his master barely looks at him. It’s only in privacy that he shows his true affections. “To protect you from rumors,” he would say, rubbing soothing hands over Cloud’s raised shoulders after several incidents of ignoring him.

It startles him out of his troubled thoughts, when Sephiroth finally comes down his throat. The fingers in his hair pet him encouragingly, conveying that he wants Cloud to swallow it cleanly. The fullness empties from his mouth, smearing wetness across his lips as it exits.

Relief floods through Cloud as he is beckoned to get up from his sore knees, and pain throbs through them as he straightens. When Sephiroth bends down to kiss him, the tenderness of it expresses that he did well.

The pieces of his uniform come off one by one—Sephiroth walks in circles, stripping off the gift he hasn’t truly earned, eyes roving over his nakedness. “It’s a bit large for you still,” he comments idly, referring to the clothing, and Cloud’s expression deflates a little. Of course it doesn’t fit.

On himself, Sephiroth removes the duster and wide pauldrons, the criss-cross harness across his chest, leaving on only his leather pants. Cloud eyes the flawless body, carved from graceful ivory, with a mixture of envy and desire. Sephiroth catches him looking, and a smile curves into his expression.

“You would do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” His voice is amused, making Cloud feel uncertain. His hands rest under Cloud’s knees, pulling them up and apart, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

He _would_ do anything, wouldn’t he? Slowly, he nods, but the initial hesitation is not missed.

As if displeased by these shreds of doubt, Sephiroth slicks him with a finger rather carelessly, the motions not meant for Cloud’s pleasure, but rather to facilitate his own. He turns his head in shame, upset at having disappointed him, but Sephiroth turns it back forward, studying his downcast eyes and bitten lips.

Then, as if thinking better of it, as if Cloud’s devotion might be better won with a different tactic, he presses in another finger, and curves them just so. It makes his whole body writhe, and a quiet moan escapes his lips. Sephiroth works him slowly, torturously, before hoisting him higher up on the bed.

“You would give me anything, wouldn’t you?” Hands drift down the sides of his body, still too slender, but Sephiroth says that he likes him that way.

“Yes,” Cloud whispers, twisting as Sephiroth bends down to press a kiss to his neck. The answer comes quicker this time, even though the sensation of the strange beauty hovering over him is distracting. The strands of long silver shift slowly into pleasurable patterns across his skin, as each kiss grazes lower on his torso.

Cloud does not think that he has much to give. Already, he gives his body and obedience. And his worship belonged to Sephiroth long before they ever met.

“Do you know what I want from you, Cloud?”

It seems like one of his many cryptic, unanswerable questions. Worried that his hesitation will cost him again, Cloud blurts out, “Anything. It’s yours.” The touches on him are gentle, contemplative.

“Your defeat,” he replies after a moment. “I want your defeat.” Sephiroth seems to savor the words as they pass through his lips, and he gazes unnervingly into Cloud’s wide blue eyes, which have only begun to change their hue.

Their spars already prove that he is no match for Sephiroth in the battlefield. For that matter, Cloud doesn’t think anyone could ever be a match—least of all himself. Does he not already own his defeat?

Or does he mean that he wants to see him humiliated? Sometimes, there is delight in his eyes, when he watches Cloud redden with shame, or grovel when he has failed to meet expectations, or tense when Sephiroth tests how much he can take—whether in bed or during training.

“I don’t understand,” he admits quietly, expecting to be reprimanded.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sephiroth replies soothingly, planting a kiss on Cloud’s cheek. The hands slide under his back, flipping him onto his stomach, and soon they’re pressing his face down into the mattress.

He pierces him the same way as he does with Masamune; Sometimes teasingly tracing the cruel point against his skin while he lies completely still, other times abruptly driving it straight into him until he bleeds.

“Good boy,” Sephiroth tells him as Cloud whimpers, and it’s only like this that he ever feels wanted.

And though the cries that he makes are as much from pleasure as they are from pain, Cloud agrees that it doesn’t matter. He has surrendered everything already.

**Author's Note:**

> Something I like about being a Sefikura shipper is that their dynamic can be painted in many ways, from relatively wholesome to fucked up.
> 
> This is meant to be the latter, of course.
> 
> I was hesitant about posting what many would consider to be problematic content, but I guess I tend to insert ugly things from reality into writing.
> 
> * * *
> 
> As always, I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments. I enjoy chatting about these characters, FF7, ideas, fanfic, and writing, so don't be afraid to share your thoughts.
> 
> Kudos are always appreciated too.  
> Thanks for reading.  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> [Other stories.](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=creators%3A+anonymous+summary%3Akbd&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&commit=Sort+and+Filter&tag_id=Compilation+of+Final+Fantasy+VII)


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